Warlord Daze

The following is a bit of alternative fiction based on certain characters from the Xenaverse. It is not meant to infringe on anyone else's rights. If you don't agree or disapprove, please go read something else.

Gabrielle personally saw to the washing and anointing of Darvin's wounds. Tender hands mopped away the blood to reveal angry, but thin, red lines. A quiet voice soothed away the pain as she smoothed the protective and healing ointments onto his lacerations. *I did this,* she thought as her hands did their silent work and her voice did its own kind of healing. *I caused his pain,* and she shuddered, because of the impulses she'd feared to acknowledge. Yet her character was such that she could not avoid the introspection. She could not avoid the truth.

She had enjoyed herself. She had reveled in the power of the whip, in the feel of its weight and movement in her hand. She even, despite her best resistance, had enjoyed the results. They were very clean cuts, neat, almost prim. His back would look like he'd intentionally scarred it as a gameboard, the stripes were so even. Shasta would have approved. She felt a professional pride and it scared her like Tartarus could not.

Even now she could feel the way her body had responded. She could feel the residue of the excitement that established itself within her as she let the instrument do its job. Her only regret was the suffering she caused, that he was experiencing a pain he did not enjoy. Her mind flashed back to to her own responses and she knew with a profound certainty, that she would have, if it had been her on the receiving end, up to a certain point, if delivered by the right person (and she *knew* who that was), embraced the experience. She didn't understand why it should be so different, though. She'd been punched in the eye before and hadn't enjoyed that at all. She's suffered through myriad bruises and contusions and lacerations and they'd held no pleasure for her. But she wondered how she would feel about them now. She was a changed woman.

It was like when she'd broken that guard's wrist. While she'd not wanted to hurt him, Gabrielle's regret was not in the action, nor in the wounding (though she did feel for the man. . .sort of), but rather in its necessity. As she peeled back the layers of thought, she understood that she felt that way when she wielded her staff. She always had. She hadn't enjoyed taking that man down, had she? No, not exactly. It was more like she enjoyed knowing her body could protect her, knowing she had the wherewithal to do what was necessary, even if it was unthinking. Was this what Xena felt? Was this why she smiled in battle? It felt good?

Gabrielle remembered the many times she'd watch the warrior fight and felt the thrill within herself. She licked her lips unconsciously. She wasn't sure she could compare it. Watching Xena was like watching a dance, one so sublime the gods themselves would weep. No wonder she smiled, Xena was in the full act of creation. To her, battle was like barding was to Gabrielle. It was an art form. The bard stopped her gentle touches for a brief moment as her mind experienced an illumination. Maybe that's why Gabrielle was feeling the way she was. Was what she'd done an art?

Then Gabrielle had another thought. Was this why Xena was so good at everything she did? Was it because it was *all* an art to her? Even being a warlord? Was it what made Xena a good healer?

The bard, Xena's slave (and it was odd how *that* thought made her feel), watched herself as she applied the ointments and wondered. Had her hands been so gentle before, so understanding? Again her mind was honest. They'd had a kind of gentleness, but not the same awareness. She was very aware now, wasn't she? She understood the the cause and the results, the good and the bad (rather intimately), and her touch reflected that knowledge. So then, this was a good thing, right? Maybe this was what made Xena so special. Gabrielle was still absorbing the event, trying to translate it within herself, not quite applying it to herself yet.

This was the reason for her ministrations. She wasn't seeking absolution or trying to redeem herself. She would have done this anyway, since it was part of her nature to try and heal. She felt the pain of the young man, not as her own, but as his and she honored it.

Gabrielle's voice remained sweet, despite the analytical thoughts running through her head, as she began applying the bandages to the seminumbed back. Darvin's would be a quick healing; that is, if he took care of it. She rattled off instructions, including the obligatory, "get some rest," part. The healer, who had been watching with the intent to assist as necessary, concurred, almost gratefully. For once, he hadn't be handed a person disguised as meat. He intended to keep the patient that way.

Another problem Gabrielle puzzled over was what to do with Evania. The little one was tired. Despite the fact it wasn't even mid afternoon it had been a long day for the girl. She was still clutching the shirt to her chest, watching with wide eyes as her brother endured the clean up. The bard decided it was time to let the child know everything was going to be okay.

Gabrielle stepped from behind Darvin and knelt in front of the girl. Her movements were fluid. The bard held out her hand, allowing the quiet of her movements to act as the command. Evania and the strawberry blonde exchanged looks while the little girl made up her mind. Then the blonde child handed the shirt to the waiting woman. In a few moments, Gabrielle was helping Darvin put the shirt back on, though they didn't button it.

It was enough though. Evania finally breathed in the breath that she'd been holding in a deep shuddering inhale and her face lost the pallor that had accompanied her emotional pain. The healer spoke, addressing Gabrielle's concern before the bard even vocalized it. "She can stay here. We'll provide the cot. I'd like to watch him for a bit. He'll be running a fever, no doubt, and I'd like to be sure he gets plenty of fluids. Not to mention, I'd like to keep him out of the fields a bit."

"That will be satisfactory." Xena's voice filled the partition. Gabrielle and the healer looked at each other. They'd not even heard her enter. Darvin gazed in pained worship at the warlord and tried to get down from the table, but Gabrielle stalled him with a hand to his chest and a warning glance. They all watched as the powerful, statuesque woman strode into the "room."

She stopped in front of Evania, and just as Gabrielle had done earlier, knelt on one knee. There was a serious communication between the young one and the warlord, though no words were spoken. One last tear dribbled down the girl's face and Xena wiped it away with her thumb. Then, unsmiling, but not angrily, she took the girl's hand in her own and stood back up. "I have found a place for Evania outside the camp. She will be staying with one of the camp cooks." If Darvin had felt a little better he might have protested, but he didn't even get the chance to think of objecting, "She'll be as safe as can be expected and Darvin will visit her." Gabrielle noted that; not may visit, but will. "But tonight she may stay here with him."

Xena's piercing gaze made it known that the matter was settled and that all accounts had been made.

Then the warlord looked at Gabrielle, nodded in the direction of the exit, let go of Evania's hand after squeezing it reassuringly, and left as quietly as she'd entered. Gabrielle stared for a second more at the empty space the Xena left, feeling the loss of her presence, then spoke softly, "well, I guess that's my signal." She nodded farewell to the surprised healer and to Darvin and his sister. Then she followed after her warlord.

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This page was last updated: March 16, 1998

ŠAugust 1997